


Spiritus

by Whitnium



Category: Tales of Vesperia
Genre: Family, Gen, Post-Game(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-06
Updated: 2020-01-06
Packaged: 2021-02-27 03:20:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22140193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Whitnium/pseuds/Whitnium
Summary: Post-game. A spirit takes a strong liking to Estelle and a strong dislike to Flynn and hilarity ensues.Written for Tales Secret Santa 2019
Comments: 3
Kudos: 17





	Spiritus

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Tales Secret Santa 2019
> 
> Prompts were fluff and family. 
> 
> Based on a headcanon I have that all the spirits made during the blastia/spirit conversion remain corporeal. 
> 
> Look, I can write something that isn't angst, I guess...

Flynn often cuts through the courtyard of Zaphias castle to return to his quarters from his office. He is surprised to see Estelle suddenly in his path: such a meeting would not be so unusual if it wasn’t the middle of the night and she wasn’t talking quietly to something in the semi-darkness.

He sees her face only in silhouette, her features bathed in gentle yellow-colored light. The source is something perched on her outstretched hands: a vulpine creature in miniature form, scarcely larger than her palm. Minute points of light spark around them as they move, undulating through various shades of amber and gold. Flynn stops short, watches in silence, acutely away of the sacrosanct aura surrounding her and the spirit. 

When all the world’s blastia were converted—an eternity ago, it seems, though there has barely been a change of seasons—one unexpected byproduct was the sudden appearance of thousands of spirits, appearing in a multitude of sizes and forms. They are all attracted to Estellise like a ship to a harbor: whether seeking her companionship or her guidance the newborn Spirits are always around her, though this spirit is not one Flynn has seen before. 

Flynn steps closer, nearly flinches as he realizes how loud his footfalls sound in the silence of the courtyard, but neither spirit nor princess seem to notice his approach. Estelle is caressing the spirit behind the ear with one fingertip and they are leaning into her slightly curved fingers, purring with delight. Orange sparks jump into the air in time with Estelle’s scratches like miniature explosions. 

He is very close when the tiny spirit’s eyes snap open and they squeal in alarm; their aura snaps instantly to an angry red and they dash away from Estelle’s hands in a crimson streak and burrow themselves beneath her hair, curled at the curve of her neck. Everything happens before Flynn can finish his step and he pauses mid-stride, momentarily stunned. Estelle gasps in surprise, one hand reaching for her neck and the other still poised before her, empty. She swirls her head until her eyes settle on Flynn and her expression softens. 

“Oh, Flynn! I’m sorry,” she offers, gesturing with her free hand to below her ear. “This spirit found me, and I guess … I got distracted.” 

Flynn struggles over a response for longer than he would like to admit, settles at last on a lackluster: “I see.”

Estelle smiles gently before returning her attention to the spirit. “It’s alright, this is my friend, Flynn.” 

The red light dims only a fraction; Flynn can feel their eyes on him though he can not see them: two little coals against his skin, white-hot. Estelle’s fingers wave through the strands of her hair and settle on the spirit. “Come out. He won’t hurt you.”

A growl rumbles from beneath her hands with all the confidence of a ferocious monster, but with none of the intensity. Estelle hides her laughter well enough, but her lips curl in a smile that the spirit, thankfully, does not notice.

She finally speaks after she is certain her voice won’t betray her and whispers quietly: “come on out.” 

The spirit obliges after a moment and moves with Estelle’s hands, eventually settling on her upturned palms again. They remain cautious, hiding behind the cage of her fingers, multicolored aura pulsing uncertainly. 

“They are very curious, but the world is a very big place for a very little spirit. You scared them, that’s all.”

“Oh,” Flynn sputters in reply. “I’m … sorry?”

Estelle laughs genuinely this time. “You don’t need to apologize. Would you like to meet them?” As she says this the spirit replies with a panicked noise that no, they would not like to be met, not at all, but Estelle calms their protest with a pat on the back. “It’ll be fine. Hold your hands out, Flynn.” 

Flynn cups his hands in the air as instructed and waits. The spirit looks back to Estelle for a lingering second, their light dimming in uncertainty. She nods to them one more time, offers a patient but confident smile. The spirit turns away from her and leaps, trailing sparks like a comet, and hovers above Flynn’s palms before landing reluctantly on the very tips of his fingers. They glare at him skeptically, body tense as if ready to fly away at any moment. 

A greeting sticks in Flynn’s throat, unwieldy. “Hello?”

Estelle rises to her feet, a bright smile on her face. “See?” she offers both to the spirit and to Flynn, gesturing vaguely to indicate them both. 

The spirit bristles with confidence with Estelle so close. They redouble their efforts to be intimidating toward Flynn, puffing their chest and rumbling a growl that is barely a vibration through his armor. Flynn can’t laugh at them but he can’t ignore the absurdity of his reaction either: if Yuri were to find out that he felt vaguely threatened by something the size of a mouse he would never live it down. 

Their growl suddenly stops, ears flattened down, eyes narrowed. Flynn holds his breath. They move suddenly, leaping off of Flynn’s hands to headbutt him in the breastplate with a squeak; the collision has no more force than a puff of air and a tiny shower of gold and ruby sparks scatter from the point of impact. The spirit rebounds away, settles on the top of Estelle’s head, stares across the battlefield to their fallen foe with all the prestige deserving such a bold attack. 

Flynn stands frozen in confusion and shock for a moment, empty hands still cupped before him; Estelle’s laughter breaks his stupor.

“Don’t worry,” she says as she reaches for the spirit. They bounce away from her reach, run along her arms, and eventually settle half curled on her hands. Their aura returns to a steady pulse of warm-colored hues and they nudge against her fingertips, begging for her attention again. Estelle returns to her gentle ministrations, scratching behind their ear. The spirit’s gaze snaps quickly to Flynn and they squeak dismissively. 

Estelle tuts at them, stops her scratching. “That’s not very nice,” she admonishes.

The spirit mewls as if to plead their case but Estelle is not swayed. Finally they hang their head in defeat. Their light dims, their body dulls. 

“Apology accepted,” Estelle says.

Flynn watches the exchange bemusedly. “What … did they say?”

The spirit brushes their head one last time against Estelle’s thumb before they burst into a shower of light and vanish from her hands. Estelle watches the sparks as they scatter from her fingers before she turns to Flynn.

“They said they don’t like you,” she replies, sincere but nonetheless amused. 

* * *

Through their association with Estelle, the tiny spirit eventually discovers the existence of one Yuri Lowell--much to the chagrin of a certain Commandant. Mistaking Yuri’s sarcastic banter for a genuine dislike, their crusade to recruit Yuri into their fight against, in their humble opinion, the most dangerous person in Terca Lumireis, becomes nearly a weekly occurrence. 

Such is the case when they come bounding into Brave Vesperia’s headquarters in a burst of light and a cacophony of noise; Yuri does not even lift his head from his spot, reclined on the couch with an arm shielding his eyes, despite the spirit’s alarmed appearance. They launch themselves at Judy, try to alight on her shoulder. Momentum sends them tumbling past her and they latch onto her hair, swing around to her opposite shoulder and dig ephemeral claws into the fabric there to keep from falling over. 

“Oh, hello,” Judy says, unperturbed. 

The spirit trills in her ear excitedly, barely pausing for breath, vibrating with excitement. Juy listens patiently, occasionally nodding her head, alternating between interjections in varying degrees of surprise and alarm. 

“Oh dear, how terrible!” 

Her tone might be enough to fool the spirit, but Yuri can sense her exaggeration. 

“What are they saying?” he mutters without moving the arm draped over his face.

The spirit stops in mid-sentence and squeals in delight upon hearing his voice, bounds in two giant leaps from Judy’s shoulder to land on Yuri’s chest. They nudge against his fingers, tug against them in a desperate attempt to motivate him.

“Hmm?” Judith offers the noise to counter the laughter in her throat. Her lips curve in a smile that lends a mischievous glint to her eyes. “Oh, Estelle is in trouble.” 

Yuri’s arm moves a fraction, enough for him to meet Judith’s eyes. “Again?”

The spirit growls at him, a minute tremble; Yuri offers his hand at last and the terrifying sound ceases. The spirit curls against his fingers, glowing a triumphant orange as Yuri sits upright. 

“Again.” Perfunctory. 

Yuri glances down to the spirit. “Let me guess—”

Two voices in unison: “It’s that knight again.” 

Yuri scratches a finger behind one of the spirit’s ears and their orange glow turns instantly yellow and they lean against his palm, purring in delight. 

“Judy, they’ll have to accept it sooner or later.”

“I’ve reminded them, over and over. Their dislike for our friend is … persistent?”

The spirit suddenly realizes their previous mission, interrupted, and leaps away from Yuri, makes an offended sound. Their glare alternates between the two humans and their tail swishes expectantly, impatiently.

“Shall we … rescue her, then?” Judith says. 

The spirit headbutts Yuri’s chest several times in response to the question with all the ferocity their tiny body can generate, little sparks of light sputtering with each blow. “Alright, alright,” he says, gathering them into his hands again. “Enough, enough. We’ll go rescue the princess.” 

The spirit squeals in delight, stands proudly with their chest puffed, relishing their success. They chirp a few hurried notes to Judith before bounding off, vanishing in a shower of falling stars. 

“What did they say?”

Judith hesitates, her reply slightly concerning: “They are going to … rally the troops?”

Yuri groans deeply, hangs his head in his hands. “Judy,” he mutters, her name wrought with unspoken frustration. They saved the world from an apocalypse only to become babysitter to a hundred thousand peaceful spirits and one with an insatiable umbrage against a certain Imperial Commandant—not that Yuri begrudges them for that, but that was beside the point. Judy’s unsuccessful attempt to hide her laughter behind a raised hand does nothing to soothe his annoyance. 

“We can’t let them get to Captain Karol, alright? He’ll rally half of Dahngrest without asking questions.”


End file.
